


after the heart of god

by manrei



Category: Alien: Covenant, Prometheus (2012)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, and some angst and aliens, and some romance, david's descent into madness, shaw deserved better dammit, some references to the crossing, the ship that drove itself into the iceberg of my heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 08:43:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manrei/pseuds/manrei
Summary: “You’re very kind, you know,” he says.-In which David finds religion.





	after the heart of god

“Pick up the flute,” David says. “You have to play it in order to activate the console.”

“This?” Elizabeth picks up the instrument. She turns it over in her hands, uncertain. “I don’t know how to play,” she says.

“Nonsense. Anyone can play,” he scoffs. “Press it to your lips. Gently. Yes. Now blow.”

A soft note fills the room. He tells her where to place her fingers and when. Her first attempt at playing the song causes him to wince. It was too clumsy, just one note off from satisfactory. She tries twice more, and the console comes alive with a green light.

Her eyes widen at the sight of the map, pupils trailing the distant planets roving around in their orbits.

“Amazing,” she exhales.

“Yes,” he says. He regards the soft curve of her mouth slightly ajar in awe, the blue glow of the star chart reflected in her eyes. Her fingers instinctively press the cross at her neck. “I agree.”

 

 

Once the emergency rations in her suit run out, she explores the ship for food. Shaw carries David’s head with her in the bag. She finds the interior of the ship lonely, almost oppressive in its emptiness. Its halls do not look like halls so much as intestines, ready to digest anything that takes a wrong turn in its vicinity. Besides, he’s the only company she has and strangely, she prefers it over solitude.

She lifts his head in front of a panel inscribed with an assortment of glyphs.

“Their galley, Dr. Shaw,” he says. “You should be able to find sustenance here.”

He tells her how to unlock the door by pressing her finger to the glyphs. The rocklike divots feel cold and damp.

In the kitchen, she finds cups, plates, and strange utensils. Many of them are too large for her to use without needing both of her hands but she eventually finds a mug small enough for her hand to wrap around.

She comes across shelves full of flasks filled with a viscous green liquid. Curious, she uncaps one and spills a few drops into what looks like a sink. She notes that it isn’t melting through the basin. A good sign, she figures.

“May I analyze the substance?” David says from the bag. “To ensure that it is safe for consumption, of course.”

With a mouth as dry and a stomach as empty as hers, Elizabeth figures that she did not have many options. She sets his head on a counter and tips the lip of the flask into his mouth.

“Organic,” David says after taking a sip. “Some type of algae, perhaps? Genetically, it is very close to spirulina. It is full of necessary vitamins and minerals and would be beneficial to you in appropriate doses.”

She notices a small dribble of the liquid streaming from the corner of his mouth. She wipes it away with her thumb, eying the liquid.

“How do I know that you’re not lying?” She asks, wary. The thought of the mangled biologist strewn amongst the dark vases comes to her mind. She thinks of Charlie, skin swollen and black and writhing. Tears threaten to wet her eyes, so she forces the memory away into a dark part of her mind to grieve over later.

“I have no need nor desire to bring harm to you, Elizabeth,” he says, his expression firm.

She blinks, surprised at his frankness. She brings her thumb to her mouth. When the liquid touches her tongue, it tastes cool and sweet.

 

 

She wakes up feverish, cold sweat dampening her skin. Her abdomen feels like it’s on fire, like there are a hundred tiny mouths biting into her skin.

“Elizabeth,” David says. His head is in the bag next to her. “Are you alright?”

She cries out in pain as she unzips her suit and peels it off her body. The fabric near her wound sticks to her skin and she winces.

“Fuck,” she gasps when she presses a finger against the angry flesh. Pus oozes near the medical staples. She should have sewn the wound shut days ago, but she forgot to amidst the chaos of getting settled in the ship.

“It’s infected,” she says. She retrieves a syringe from the duffel and punches it into her hip, sighing in relief as the anesthetic took its effect. She hopes that the antibiotic is enough to eradicate her illness.

“That was your last one,” David says before her eyes flutter shut. For a moment, he almost sounded afraid.

 

 

The mending takes hours. She burns herself with the solder the first time she uses it.

“Ow,” she hisses, putting her finger in her mouth to ease the pain.

“Careful,” he says, his voice a warbled version of the one he once had.

Although she isn’t a physician or a mechanic, he admires her carefulness. He could already feel the artificial sinew in his destroyed collar knitting back together, bit by bit.

“Green to green. Red to red,” he says. “It’s meant to be simple.”

“I’m doing my best,” she murmurs.

His eyes turn to examine her. He analyzes the damp skin, the locks of hair plastered to her face. He can sense her body trying to fight, trying to recover from the damage inside it. Moving pains her, he knows. Yet she’s here, performing such a sensitive task with as much care as she can muster.

If he were human, he would have felt like he didn’t deserve such selflessness.

“You’re very kind, you know,” he says.

She huffs, a small smile quirking her imperfect yet perfect mouth.

His eyes close, his ears tuning out everything but the soft buzz of the solder and her breathing. He knows that she will die. Not anytime soon, if he can help it. If he can prolong it. Humans were such a delicate species - so fragile, so ephemeral. That someone like Shaw was a member of such an impermanent race was nothing less than a pity to David.

His software notifies him of the progress of his recovery. Most systems, including his motor functions and tactile processors, ping online. He takes note of the sensation of her left hand on his chest. How her fingers move every so often to adjust their grip on the flashlight. Warmth gathers in his sternum and spreads across his body like a ray of light filling a room.

 

Once the repairing is done, he sits up.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t do any better,” she says. “I’m used to dusting artifacts, not fixing robots.”

The tear feels bumpy under his fingers. An amateur’s job, but at least all his wires are intact. He would have to reopen the wound sometime later to refine the job. He flexes his fingers experimentally.

He smiles. “It’s perfect.”

She takes his hands and helps him off the table. His legs wobble once his feet hit the floor and her grip tightens in response, fingers squeezing his to steady him. Her hands are so soft.

“Be careful,” she says. “We’ll take this slow.”

This would be lovely with some music, he thinks. He imagines lanterns illuminating the ship’s hull, light flickering on the ceiling’s murals. They would dance from here to the navigational bridge, holograms of galaxies brushing against their skin. He’s never experienced such a sensation before. So exhilarated, so alive, so -

She crumples to the floor.

 

 

In the dream, Charlie isn’t dead. They’re back on Earth, ready to accept an award commending their efforts on the mission. The rest of the crew are all alive, too. Fifield and Millburn are dressed up, arms crossed, uneasy around each other. Janek takes a long pull from a cigar, laughing when Fifield punches Millburn in the arm.

Vickers, gorgeous and as terrifying as always, glares at David, who stands by the Engineer translating the guttural language coming from the giant’s mouth.

“You are our children,” he says to the audience of scientists and journalists. “And we have so much to teach you.”

Several camera flashes go off and a few mic drones fly closer to the podium, eager to hear more.

“We did it, baby,” Charlie whispers into her ear. He gives her hand a little squeeze and her heart jumps in delight. “We found him.”

When she turns to kiss him, his skin bubbles.

“Baby,” he says, panicking. His eyes are bloodshot. She screams. _Not again,_ she thinks. _Not again._ The Engineer falls to his knees, flesh rotting.

“No,” she sobs. Charlie stumbles and she clutches his cheek. A trail of blood streams down from his eye like a tear. “No, Charlie. No.”

“Ellie,” he says. “I love you.”

Fire engulfs him and she is left with his ashes falling through her fingers.

 

 

She wakes to the feeling of his hands on her abdomen. David ties the end of the thread into a knot. He cuts the excess off with his teeth and wets her skin with an antiseptic wipe.

“David,” she says.

“A portion of your wound reopened,” he says. “Lifting my body onto the table seems to have caused immense strain on yours.” He pauses, and looks at her with what almost appears to be guilt. “I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” she says.

“Dr. Shaw?”

“Yes?”

She sees something like concern cause his eyebrows to knit together. “You’re crying,” he says. “Were you having a bad dream?”

His palm cups her cheek and she grips his wrist. His hand is the last thing she wants touching her right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s off the list.

She cries, her tears mixing with the blood on his fingers.


End file.
